Regaining an identity that I never lost, is a bit cryptic to me. It was just misplaced, while trying to protect it from getting stolen, on this journey of life. Hauling in my backpack, the baggage of narcissists, and souls crippled with the spirit of that harlot…jezebel. I would feel sorry for these souls, except I’ve attached a weight to that backpack, and threw it at the bottom of a rushing violent river. If no one survived…that’s not my problem. I have. My son has. And that is what matters.
But being the kind of person that I am, I’ve turned around just to make sure the rugged old backpack atleast got caught on a hanging branch…..but satisfied when I did not see it. At all costs we have to save ourselves. I emphasize love, but if we can’t see ourselves in the same light that God sees us….we become recipients to this abusive world, carrying along the dead weight of others.